


Like a tiger

by deniigiq



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: + a drunk guy and friends, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:06:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: It was like arguing with a toddler, and Buck wasn’t in the mood for an existential crisis.





	Like a tiger

Ten minutes and two coffees later, Buck is standing out on the curb, watching traffic slam by with an anchor of dread in his stomach.

Steve had one job. One job. And that job was to not pick a fight for ten minutes.

And yet here they were.

He didn’t have to see the whole picture to hear some guy shouting abuse at Captain America while struggling against the arms of his wiser friends. He could, however, see the rigid line of Steve’s neck. If he were a dog, his ears would have been at full parallel. Steve, for his part, was doing an excellent job of not fighting back, which Buck knew lasted about 4 minutes at the most and, since the offending body seemed well into a slurred rant about the state of terrorism in America, he figured he had about half a minute to prevent imminent trapezius squeezing.

Coffee in hand, he wove through traffic to the tune of screeching tires just in time to see Bad Decision lob a ball of spit straight into Steve’s face. And it was at that point that he knew hope was rapidly fading for this guy.

Steve blinked and bowed his head to wipe the spit off his cheek. Bless him, he even took a deep breath for eight counts like in the breathing exercises Buck did when he felt a panic attack coming on. For Bad Decision’s wiser friends, those eight counts must have felt like an eternity. Buck intercepted on count 6, just as he saw Steve’s back muscles twitch under his coat.

“Hiya, fellas,” he drawled, applying the never-failing technique of putting shit in Steve’s hands to distract him from hitting people, “what seems to be the problem?”

Bad Decision’s friends attempted to garble out that there was no problem, sir. Our buddy’s just real drunk. He don’t mean no harm, he don’t even know what he’s saying. All that Buck heard, however, was Bad Decision screaming “And YOU’RE no better than HIM you fucking murderer piece of shit. You FUCKING TERRORIST. You fucking—”

At which point the Asset handled the situation by bringing the face down, the eyes up close to the brow and the jaw slack.

“I said,” the Asset rumbled, “what seems to be the fucking problem.”

It had the appropriate response. Bad Decision’s friends’ sense of self-preservation gave them the strength to haul their buddy, now wide-eyed and a little flappy, back into the back of the last open bar on the street.

Buck relaxed his face and shook out his shoulder; he turned to see Steve’s full pink pout.

“What.” He snapped.

“Why does no one listens to me when I do that,” he whined. Because of course this is a thing he would whine about.

“Steve—”

“I can be scary. I can do the eyebrow thing.”

“Steve—”

“I wasn’t even gonna fight him Buck, I promise. Was just gonna take him back inside.”

It was like arguing with a toddler, and Buck wasn’t in the mood for an existential crisis. He took a coffee and got a good hold on Steve’s jacket sleeve and began the journey towards the goddamned Christmas tree farm.


End file.
